


All Due Festivities

by WindStainedDreams



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Cults, F/F, Gift Fic, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Sacrifice, because we roll that way, but nothing ever happened, but we love them anyway, mentions blood, mentions of the aftermath of battle but no direct violence and the characters remain safe, rarepairs, sexual contact on a battlefield is probably not safe sex, some of the characters get a little creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindStainedDreams/pseuds/WindStainedDreams
Summary: Everyone deserves some love and joy.  An assortment of one-shot, one word prompt based FEA rarepair fic for the lovely LazyWriterGirl to celebrate her birthday and the now six years of friendship and crazy we have shared.





	1. Toaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LazyWriterGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyWriterGirl/gifts).



> Each chapter stands alone and will have its own summary. Content varies by chapter, so please see the notes if you're concerned. Skip the notes at the start if you don't want spoilers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the fire alarm goes off, Noire just wants her day to end (even if it's only just started). A chance encounter might just change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.

Noire rolled over in her bed, grumbling. A piercing screech was bombarding her ears and she was seconds away from grabbing her talisman and having a shouting match with the noise when she realized it was the residence’s fire alarm. 

Well, shit. 

Noire flung her comforter off on the second attempt and scrambled for some of yesterday’s clothes. She shoved her laptop into her bag, jammed her feet into her beaten up sneakers and made sure she was at least half covered in all the important places before joining the panicked masses trying to get out of the dorm as fast as possible. There was the obligatory dramatic screaming, crying and panicked excitement as well as the harsh sounds of the dons shouting for everyone to use the stairs. 

Noire could see that Stairwell A was already nearly completely jammed so she dashed past Lucina (ignoring the blue haired don’s protests) and headed to the stairwell on the far side of the wing. There, fewer people were scrambling down the concrete steps and it was easier to join the rush without dying. Noire headed down, holding her bag close to her chest, shivering in the cool dampness of the old building. On every floor, the fire alarm nearly bowled everyone over with how loud it was, and Noire kept one hand on her talisman until she was outside, standing in the snow. 

Noire stared at the building, wondering if this was another prank of Owain’s or if something really had caught fire despite the dons’ near invasive search for anything with a heating element in it. The firetrucks were arriving in skids along the as-yet-unplowed roads of the campus, adding to the cacophony. Noire hoped that something was actually burning, just so she could feel some level of satisfaction that whichever idiot had caused this was going to suffer. 

Oh, were they going to suffer. 

Lucina and the other dons made their way around the groups of huddled students, counting heads and making sure everyone had made it out. As she passed by Noire, Lucina smiled wryly and traced her own shoulder, indicating that Noire’s tank top wasn’t quite successfully hiding her bra. Great. Just what she needed; a wardrobe critique while standing in the snow in boxers, a tank and a pair of holey sneakers as the fire alarm and sirens competed for The Most Obnoxious Eardrum Shatterer of the Year Award. Nothing for it, though. Noire sighed, shifting her bag across her chest as Inigo leered at her from across the quad, Owain giggling like an idiot beside him. 

Could this morning please end so that she could crawl back into bed? Was that too much to ask? 

It took about an hour for the firefighters to fully clear the building and reset all the alarms. It turned out that one of the rooms on Noire’s floor had indeed had a small fire, which just made Noire seethe as she trudged back up the slick stairs, hoping that by the time she made it up the fifth flight she would be able to feel her legs again. 

The smell of smoke and burning things reached Noire’s nose as she opened the door of the stairwell and started down the hall. The smell was nearly pleasant compared to the usual damp concrete and body odor of the residence halls. The enjoyment was short lived as Noire patted down her thighs and realized she wasn’t actually wearing pants, which meant she had no pockets. She laughed humourlessly as she bashed her head against her door. Of course, her keys were still on her nightstand. Of course, that was the kind of day today was going to be. The pastel haired young woman turned around to slump down in front of her door and wait for either Lucina or security to come by and open her door for her. It would probably be a long wait. Inigo passed by her door for the third time, not even pretending not to look down her top as she sat on the floor scowling at the cluster of people gathered at the other end. 

As she sat there, she realized that the room the fire had to have been in was just down the hall, where all the people were. Nosy freshmen were peering around their doors, not even pretending they weren’t theorizing about the cause of the alarm. Firefighters and campus security were still talking to whoever it was that was responsible, alternating with shooing off the curious mob. Soon, very soon, Noire would have an idea of who to curse. 

Grima, was she ever looking forward to that. 

When the excitement finally died down and a security officer had opened her door for her, Noire sat down at her desk and just stared into space. She was still cold, her feet were drenched and her laptop had probably lost all its battery while she stood outside, wiping out the draft of her essay she had been working on before falling asleep last night. Hopefully her autosave luck would hold out just a little longer.

As the fan of her laptop whirred back to life and the battery light blinked its happiness at being plugged in again, Noire thought about the pink haired man who wouldn’t leave her alone. Noire didn’t know how else to show him she wasn’t interested. Curses and glares and stabbing Inigo’s hand with her dissection kit’s scalpel hadn’t done anything to stop the womanizer, so Noire was getting a little desperate. The thing was, he really was mostly harmless, offering hot drinks to every person he saw. But with Noire, he just wouldn’t stop. Sometimes, she found herself flushing and enjoying the praise, but other times it just made her want to choke him. 

There had to be some way to get rid of him that didn’t involve murder. If only to spite her mother, Noire would find that way. For now, finishing her ecology paper had to come first. 

Noire dropped her head to her keyboard and moaned. Why did life hate her? Her draft was gone. Sixteen pages of work and even the drafts she had saved before last night seemed to have vanished. She heaved a sigh and got up, slamming her laptop closed as she did. Maybe somebody down the hall would know how to help her. 

The young woman moved to her door, swiping her pale purple hair from her face as she peered down the hall to check for any possible unwanted attention. Seeing the coast was clear, she was halfway down the hall before she realized she didn’t have a clue if anyone in her hall actually knew anything about computers. The thought brought her up short and she shrieked into her clenched fist. 

The noise must have startled someone because there was a crash to Noire’s right that made her jump and scream again. Noire spun around to face the noise and saw a tiny girl with pale green hair staring back at her through her open door. A pile of books was at her feet, pages bending under their own weight. Noire stepped up timidly to help, knowing how frustrating it was when the books she needed were damaged. The other woman bent down and started collecting them as well. 

Their fingers brushed over the last book and Noire held her breath as she looked up at the other woman. This was new. The other woman flushed and Noire could feel the heat on her own face. She clutched at her talisman and stood up, giving the green-haired girl space to put the books back where they belonged. Awkward shuffling couldn’t begin to cover the dance they were trapped in. Eventually one of them cleared their throat. 

“Umm… thank you.” 

The voice was small and surprisingly light. Noire kind of loved it immediately. Then she blinked. It seemed like she may have found a solution to her harassment problem after all. She was surprisingly okay with this, at least for now. Her face was still warm, but a smile was creeping along her lips and Noire didn’t really want to fight it, so she didn’t. 

“I’m Nah. Weird name, I know. Thanks for your help again,” the petite woman held out a hand and Noire shook it instinctively, her father’s lessons in politeness taking over. 

“I’m Noire. Sorry for scaring you,” she replied. 

“What were you looking for anyway, that you had to scream like that?” Nah’s face was open and inquisitive. Noire sat down on her chair as if it was the most natural thing to do. Nah sat down on her bed, smiling, and Noire started talking. And just kept right on talking. 

By the time their grumbling stomachs interrupted them hours later, Noire was sure that the spark of interest she’d seen in Nah’s eyes wasn’t just a trick of the light. The warm feeling hadn’t left Noire once and she was enjoying feeling good with another person for the first time in a very long time. Nah shuffled around Noire to the cupboards against the wall looking for something to eat. Noire followed her with her eyes and noticed the blackened streaks above the countertop. A mangled piece of metal and plastic sat beneath the streaks, charred remains of something that might once have been bread still faintly smoking. 

“It was you! You’re the idiot that got us stuck outside in the snow for fucking ever! Blood and thunder but you’re stupid!” 

Nah turned around with a sheepish look on her face and offered Noire a piece of bread. 

“I’d toast it, but, well. You know what happened,” Nah tilted her head towards the burned toaster with a sardonic smile. 

She reached for Nah’s hand, ignoring the bread, and Nah’s relieved smile said it all. 

_Yeah_ , Noire thought. _This could indeed make today nearly perfect._


	2. Bloodshed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flavia waits on the battlefield, knowing that bloodshed can impact even the most experienced fighter in unexpected ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions aftermath of battle, and blood. Sexual contact on a battle field, not very explicit but not just implied either.

Flavia wiped her silver sword on the tattered remains of the cape the thief had been wearing and spun slowly to observe the rest of the battlefield. Chrom and his Shepherds, as well as the rest of the Ylissean and Feroxi armies, were taking care of the last of the Plegians. There wasn’t much resistance left. It would be a long but straightforward task from now on. 

The smoke from battle fires darkened the sky, winds natural and magical twisting the rising plumes into strange shapes. Flavia didn’t startle as a shadow separated from the darkness and fell across her, the large shape casting it gliding on powerful wings to land behind her. The East-Khan wiped the grime covering her hands on the same cape lazily. It wasn’t like there were any Plegians left nearby to bother them. 

“Lord Chrom wishes to see you back at camp, Khan Flavia,” the calm voice says, carrying over the remaining sounds of fighting. A good voice, clearly trained for both diplomacy and battle. Flavia approved of its steadiness. 

The blonde Hero turned to face the Pegasus Knight and her mount, sheathing her sword in the same efficient motion. She studied the young woman, girl really, waiting for the moment the mask of duty failed. _I wonder how she’ll break_ , Flavia mused as the silence stretched. _Will she cry? Will it be emptiness? Such a young thing, probably the first blood she’s shed._

She could wait this one out, just like she had all the younger warriors dragged into battle for the first time. Flavia bent down to loot the soldiers at her feet, carefully selecting weapons and detaching coin purses as she continued to wait for the redhead’s reaction. A few bodies later, just as Flavia was kicking over the body of a mage to pick up the remains of his Nosferatu and Elwind tomes, she heard it – a stifled sound coming from the flier still waiting behind her for some kind of reaction. Her first glance before she picked up the tomes revealed shaking shoulders, and Flavia was almost disappointed it looked like it would be tears when the sound came again and Flavia froze. 

Cordelia wiped her face with a bloodied hand, cheek smeared almost as red as her hair. When her fingers moved away the sound became clear and Flavia grinned slowly at the laughter bubbling past pinched lips. The Pegasus Knight’s eyes locked on Flavia’s and a matching grin spread across her pale face. 

Flavia tossed the tomes and weapons and gold onto the pile she’d already collected as she approached Cordelia, stopping just out of arms’ reach. Her hand was hovering in the air, inviting. It was then that Flavia remembered the whispers of the poor young Pegasus Knight, brightest rising star and the only one to survive a vicious attack on the Plegian border. Perhaps this wasn’t her first battle after all. 

Cordelia took the final step forward toward Flavia. Breathless laughter caressed each other’s lips as they stood just a hair’s breadth from touching. Flavia became aware that despite the end of the battle, her heart was still pounding in her chest, flushing heat throughout her body. It simmered between them, hot as the Plegian desserts they’d battled in. 

“Do you want this?” Flavia’s first words to the Shepherd. 

“Yes,” immediate, fierce, a blaze in a single word. 

Their lips met, tasting of blood and ashes and sweat and it was one of the greatest kisses Flavia had ever shared with another. As they pressed close, the Khan was reminded that the person next to her was indeed a woman and not a girl at all. Her own armour meant that her pleasure would be harder to chase, but the short skirt of the uniform Cordelia wore had never looked less ridiculous than when Flavia’s dark hand slid beneath it to find the redhead’s core. 

The gasp her exploration earned her was more than enough to compel Flavia to bring them both to the dirt in a controlled tumble, pressing the slighter figure to the ground with her own body. Panting breaths, biting kisses and ragged moans filled the silence of a dead battlefield as the two women writhed against one another trying to get enough contact through their armour for relief. 

Cordelia crested first, clenching on Flavia’s fingers as the Khan rubbed against the heel of her own hand and her partner’s leg until she too fell into sweet release. Blonde hair cascaded around the Hero as she caught her breath, bloodied grin still firmly in place. Her hair tie must have burst with all the vigorous activity, a pity but nothing irreplaceable. The feel of Cordelia’s nails on her scalp was well worth the price of a small strip of cloth. For her part, Cordelia was dazed, limp and sated in a way she had never been. Her skirt was around her hips, revealing her to the Khan’s still heated gaze as Cordelia reached a hand down and pulled golden fingers from her centre. The smaller woman licked them clean of her juices, savouring the taste of pleasure and battle. The shudder travelled between the two women until it was unclear who had felt it first, and the spark almost reignited their passions. 

A distant horn called them to attention before they could return to more pleasurable pursuits. It took only a few moments for duty to regain its hold on them and they rose, cleaning themselves up as best they could before Flavia mounted the Pegasus behind Cordelia. The flight to camp was uneventful, the rush of flying dulled by the heady coupling they had just shared. Once the Pegasus Knight landed them safely in the paddock with the other special mounts, the two women separated, off to carry out their own responsibilities. Flavia’s meeting with Chrom, Frederick, Robin and Basilio was a blur she would never fully remember, despite the oaf’s repeated compliments on sound strategy “for a woman” – they had earned him several sharp kicks to the shin. 

Eventually the camp disbanded, the armies retreated back within their own borders and peace reigned (at least for a short time). And every diplomatic envoy Ylisse sent to Ferox in that time had a red haired Pegasus Knight accompanying them. On the rare occasions Cordelia could not accompany the party, it was noted that Khan Flavia was less generous with her time, more focused on strengthening her own country, although no one knew why. Perhaps it was simply that the two women had forged a bond in battle. 

It was probably best left at that. 


	3. Ambre Gris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tharja sits on the beach, waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.

The cold wind whistled. Tharja pulled up the hood of her thick cloak, cursing the frigid air. 

Heavy waves beat the rocks of the shore, icy spray splashing the ground and turning the grey sand dark with moisture. Tharja’s boots slid on the snow as she headed towards the water’s edge. Black hair whipped in her face as the wind from the ocean carried the cries of gulls past her ears and into the forest behind her. The small woman paused in her walk to stare at the horizon, wondering if there was a storm brewing just out of sight to give the air its charged, restless feeling. A particularly sharp caw drew her back to the present, and the dark mage studied her surroundings. Although mostly faded by the water, impressions still marked the sand and led the dark mage up the beach to a miniscule cove. 

It was barely a crease in the shoreline, hidden by low cliffs, tumbled rock and the carcasses of dead evergreens. The snow blanketed the ground in a light dusting, often melting in the spray from the sea despite the cold temperatures. Tharja’s gloves were wet by the time she had clambered over rotten logs and slick stone. The hem of her cloak stuck to the backs of her legs, cold seeping into her skin. Brine coated every sharp breath and the Plegian woman huffed as she climbed over the last rock to see what she had hoped to find. 

A pale figure sat on the roots of an ancient tree, staring into nothing beyond the shore. Dirtied robes, made thick to fight the cold, dragged on the ground, soaking up the shallow water as the other woman sat there. Tharja felt a small pang in her chest, perhaps a curse someone tried to cast. The woman didn’t move, didn’t respond to the presence of another person in her space. 

Winter in northern Ferox was a hell Tharja had never envisioned herself choosing. But when the time came, she had felt no hesitation. Isolated, free to spend her days devising ever more powerful curses, nothing could have tempted her more. The added presence of family was simply a side effect, nothing to do with the location being chosen by her wife. The alacrity with which Tharja had given up her warmer home for the north had surprised no one, although they dared not speak such thoughts to Tharja. 

It was her wife that Tharja had come looking for. Although the dark mage had managed a few small curses that helped the one afflicted retain memory, Emmeryn was still prone to wandering off for hours at a time. Days sometimes, if the fog in her mind got bad and the former Exalt couldn’t remember to come home. Seeing her sitting in her favourite place on the beach was… a relief. This far from prying eyes the dark mage could admit that some positive feelings were welcome, joy at seeing her loved ones safe being the primary allowance she afforded herself. 

The last few shuffling steps as Tharja approached the fallen tree were enough to bring Emmeryn’s focus to her. Pale green eyes widened, then softened as recognition filled them. Emmeryn’s smile was warm as she held a hand out to Tharja and pulled the other woman to join her on her seat. 

“I’m sorry…” voice as quiet as the snow, Emmeryn tilted her head to rest atop Tharja’s hood. 

“You know I won’t accept your apologies for this, Emm. Just come home with me when you’re ready,” Tharja reminded, wrapping her cloak around the taller woman’s shoulders with her left arm. Emmeryn nodded against her hood, sagging into the warmth of her wife. 

They sat like that for hours, until the sun was setting behind them, amber beams racing through the branches to glimmer on the cold sea. Emmeryn stretched, shaking off the cloak Tharja had shared with her. Slowly, the two women rose and began to make their way back over the rocky beach towards the trail that would take them home. 

Just before the trailhead, Emmeryn paused to look back towards the water. Tharja was stopped short when the blonde pulled her towards the waves. 

“My love?” she asked, careful not to either tread on fabric or trip on stone as she followed. 

“What is that, Tharja?” Emmeryn pointed out to sea, where something grey was floating towards them. 

“That, my precious queen, is treasure. I promise, I will make wondrous things for you with what you have brought me,” Tharja replied, kissing Emmeryn’s cheek before her wife could see the mania returning to periwinkle eyes. The dark mage called up some wind to carry the substance towards them and gathered up the lumps into her cape. 

As they walked back towards their hut, Tharja considered feeling guilty that she often used Emmeryn’s forgetfulness to get away with less than savoury dealings, but the earthy scent of her newest find soothed her, whispering dark secrets she could unlock if only given some time alone. The potential trapped in the lumpy wax was too tempting to resist. Maybe with it, she could finally help her wife cement at least new memories in her mind. If it were so…

Noire, still preening for having reached the great old age of four, greeted her mothers at the door, dragging Emmeryn to sit by the fire and warm herself while Tharja disappeared into her lab. The lumps of odorous wax sat on her table. Tharja stared at them and almost felt as if they were staring back. The secrets hidden here would crack, Tharja knew. 

For now, she had a spell to create, mysteries to unravel and a family to love. And that made the dark-haired woman smile, even as the winter night fell outside her windows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This pairing felt familiar when I tried to pull it out for the March FE Femslash Week, and this is why. Clearly I have a weird soft spot for them, and making them hurt.


	4. Meadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrom and Sully have a very special gift for Lissa on her wedding day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings.

The clearing was lit by the warm spring sun. Bright flowers covered the open hills, scenting the air with their perfumes. The sounds of birdsong and buzzing insects dulled Chrom’s awareness of the people milling about just down the slope from where he stood. The view from this field was unparalleled. The rolling hills spread out before him, letting him look upon his kingdom without the fancy estates of Ylisstol hiding any of his realm’s natural beauty. 

There could be no more perfect location for his little sister’s wedding.

Lissa’s soon-to-be-wife had proposed to her over a year ago, sweeping the young princess off her feet. Chrom had offered to facilitate the process from a legal standpoint, but the two women had been patient and gotten the appropriate approvals and licenses in their own time, when their duties permitted them the chance. Chrom had not seen his sister this happy in many long years. He would do anything to make sure today was as perfect as the two of them deserved. 

“Chrom!”

Sully waved from the bottom of the slope, calling his name again when he didn’t immediately turn to head back down to the rest of the gathering. She held something in her hands but Chrom was too far away to make out what it was. 

“C’mon Chrom, we don’t have all day! Get your ass over here!”

Chrom sighed, certain that some of the nobles would be whispering about how his wife spoke to him, but Chrom wouldn’t change Sully at all. His wife was the best Queen Ylisse could ask for in this time of recovery. The public adored her, and the knights and soldiers looked up to her with the same fear and awe they showed Frederick. A few dotty old fools were not going to stop Chrom from doing what he wanted. 

He made his way down to where Sully stood. As he drew closer he noticed that his wife wasn’t standing quite as proud as she usually was. She was nervous about something, enough for it to show. Chrom placed a hand on her shoulder, brushing it up to cup her chin and tilt her face up. Sully eventually met his gaze and huffed. 

“What’s wrong, Sully?”

“Nothing’s _wrong_. It’s just that… I found something and a part of me wonders if it was a good idea to even go looking in the first place.” Chrom could feel Sully’s heartbeat in her throat, fluttery and spiked as her hair. She was almost shaking. 

“What did you find? Why would it be a bad idea?” Chrom questioned softly, knowing that as long as he kept his questions straightforward, Sully was probably going to answer. 

Instead of saying anything else, Sully lifted the small box she’d been holding up so that Chrom could see inside of it. The off-white paper of the box was aged, fragile looking. Of course, it was nowhere near as fragile as what was inside. Memories swamped Chrom of another royal wedding, years ago now, almost a decade. 

Emmeryn’s headpiece and veil sat in its paper nest, harmless and devastating. 

The white, golden orange and pale yellow alstroemeria wrapped around a delicate band of gold that formed the headband that held the fine veil in place. Age had slightly browned the thin material, but the creamy colour was still beautiful. It had been their mother’s, and their grandmother’s before that. Chrom hadn’t thought of it in years. Of course, Sully found it. 

Chrom knew without a doubt that Sully’s influence in the lilies of Lissa’s bouquet came from this plan. The redheaded knight hadn’t worn the veil herself, having married Chrom on a battlefield, with only a feast afterwards at the castle once the war had been won. The Queen of Ylisse hadn’t worn the veil the previous ones had, but Lissa should. 

Chrom felt the tears prick at his eyes, the lump in his throat not disappearing no matter how much he swallowed. He took a breath and was surprised at how much it shuddered in his lungs. He kept taking shuddering breaths, hoping one would finally settle so he could breathe. Sully gave him a small smile, eyes bright. Chrom was surprised to find that he had an answering smile on his face. It took Chrom a moment longer but he eventually took the box from his wife and headed over to Lissa’s tent. Sully followed like his loyal shadow. 

As he walked through the tall grasses and blooms of the field, Chrom was once again reminded of how young and resilient his sister was. She had grown so much and most of that growth was due to the woman she would wed later that afternoon. But she was still as bright and youthful as the flowers that dropped their pollen onto his pants’ hem. Chrom would never have considered having a wedding outside, but it suited the couple more than any indoor location he could imagine in Ylisse. 

Chrom approached Lissa’s tent with care. He knew Maribelle was holding court over all of his sister’s many attendants today, and would let no one pass she did not deem worthy of seeing her Lissa before the ceremony. Chrom wasn’t sure if he’d be welcome, but he also couldn’t bear to have anyone else present Lissa with Emmeryn’s veil, not even Maribelle who had been there with them since childhood. 

“Maribelle?” he called, hoping that the next thing he would see wouldn’t be a stave to the face. 

The petite blonde healer hastily exited the tent, keeping the flaps closed tightly around her. She looked ready to chew Chrom out for distracting her from her current task, but paused. Chrom simply tilted the box to show Maribelle what was inside. The fight seemed to leave Maribelle in a steady stream, not so much letting her sag as lightening her shoulders for a moment. The blonde gave a sharp nod at Chrom but blocked Sully from following them inside. It seemed that there were still strict restrictions on who would see this bride before it was time. 

Chrom had an instant in which to pass the box to Maribelle as carefully as he could before he had an armful of his sister, tears dampening his shirt. He let his own tears fall, grateful that Lissa wasn’t rejecting the gift being offered. Maribelle let them have a moment of remembrance, and then took Lissa’s hand and drew her further into the tent where a large screen hid most of the area from view. Chrom left. 

When Chrom had walked Lissa down the aisle and delivered her to stand in front of Libra next to Panne, he had to stifle tears again. The late afternoon sun cast the veil in a warm glow and the white lilies shone a warm inviting red, so that she looked crowned in flame. Lissa’s bouquet, roses of the deepest red and purest white and those same pale lilies as in her veil was held in Maribelle’s hands as Panne and Lissa repeated their vows for all to hear. House Ylisse and the Taguel had both nearly been shattered by the events of the last few years, but today they stood strong once again, and the future burned bright in their eyes as Panne and Lissa kissed. 


	5. Stalking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choosing one's companion is always a sacred duty not to be taken lightly. Loving one's companion is only to be expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cults and ritual sacrifice. Yes, the major character death warning is for this chapter, although its mostly implied.

“That one,” said the little red-haired girl, pointing into the crowd.

The man behind her smiled.

***

It was easy enough to promote the pitiful creature’s parents among the ranks. They would have risen anyway, with their skills and dark obsessions. It helped to smooth feathers nonetheless. After all, the favourites of the Fell Dragon suffered the most gloriously. And everyone wanted to suffer for the Fell Dragon.

***

“Hey, psst!”

The pale haired girl looked around her like a startled rabbit, flinching from the sudden noise. It was not as if any other children in the compound ever talked to her. She was miles above them, after all.

Such a lonely life at the top, daughter to two of the Grimleal’s highest ranking sorcerers.

But the small figure continued to peer at her through the hole in the shelf, eyes lighting the darkness a faint purple. Noire blinked the coloured spots from her eyes, pale blue orbs tired after so long staring at arcane texts. The sudden return to awareness after reading as much as she had was bound to make her head a little foggy. After a moment, still seeing the pale face gazing back at her, she decided to respond. 

“What?” the pale-haired girl hissed, leaning towards the figure, book of spells slipping from careless fingers to crush dusty pages against the floor.

“Wanna see a secret? I know where the best books are.”

Noire didn’t even look back, following the pale face into ever more forgotten corners. Her books and lantern and snacks lay forgotten in the dusty corner of the library. After all, the whispers were so much nicer than what was waiting in those pages. 

***

Severa watched as her younger sister grew into a gorgeous young woman, ever more desired by the desperate that their parents led. She had to act as a protector, poisoning the tea Inigo tried to bring Morgan - only enough so that the slimy man was sick for a week; slicing Owain’s pants to ribbons - the laughter at his pathetic manhood shamed the fool for months; crushing the gem Nah found - a mere trinket not worthy of one as great as Morgan. Petty creatures, pitiful. 

Morgan had already chosen her companion, after all. 

Severa only hoped that her father’s plans wouldn’t be ruined. They couldn’t wait much longer. 

***

Henry and Tharja worked hard to earn the place they’d been given in the Grimleal. It was prestigious but perilous to take such high a place in the order. Everyone below them feared angering them, and rightly so, for their invocations seared the world with purple fire. But that left them alone to be at Grima’s beck and call, a pair in the upper echelon that had no peers. The secrets they learned from the Fell Dragon meant nothing when they could not make use of them in front of the lesser believers. They were effectively idolized and isolated. 

Grima’s sister herself had failed to meet the Fell Dragon’s high standards for his second in command. Aversa was a curse, a vile stain on the otherwise brilliant work that they did for their people. Her love of that wretch, Gangrel, and the deal they’d struck to try and overtake Grima was astounding in its stupidity. And now it was Tharja and Henry who shared the burden of leading Grima’s flock as he deemed fit. 

For now, it was working in their favour, but it was unclear how long that purple light would shine upon them. 

***

Severa remembered picking her own from among the crowd, how thrilling it felt to look over those dedicating their lives to her father and picking one that would shine brighter than the rest. It pleased her that her choice not only furthered Grima’s goals but also stole the heiress from under the nose of the investigator trying to shut them down. 

Whoever said being the daughter of the Dragon didn’t come with the best things? 

***

“Wake up.”

Noire didn’t want to wake up, her dreams were so sweet. 

“C’mon silly, wake up.”

The pale hair stuck to her face, tugging at the back of her neck when Noire buried her face further into the soft down pillow. The smooth sheets caressed her body as they slid against her skin, hot and cool in turns depending on where her body had lain. 

“Noire, wake up. You have to go.”

Those words made no sense. 

“My father’s coming, move, let’s go!”

The fierce whispering finally broke through, because the words made no sense if she was in her own bed. 

But she wasn’t in her own bed. 

Noire pushed herself up and realized she could feel every inch of the sheets pressed against her because she had nothing between her skin and the bed. 

And Grima was coming. 

The bundle of cloth hit her in the face. The pale haired woman flailed with her shirt while Morgan slid the pants over her companion’s legs, small fingers caressing in a way that was not at all useful at the moment. Clawed fingers left a mark that sent a shiver up Noire’s spine. By the time she pushed her head out of her shirt, the purple-red marks had faded and all that was left was a shaking oversensitivity to the cool air as Morgan brushed past her skin. 

Grima was coming. 

Noire scrambled into her shoes, muscles aching in ways they hadn’t before. A scarf she’d wrapped around herself last night was grabbed and within moments she and Morgan were back in the passageway Noire had come through the night before. The door to Morgan's chambers slammed open behind them and Noire was left in the dark tunnel, blinking the bright lavender flare from her eyes as she stared at Morgan’s serene face on the other side of the threshold. Noire was petrified to move in case she was discovered, and yet she knew she needed to get away as fast as possible. Her legs shook and her breath didn’t seem to be getting into her lungs very well. 

In the darkness, memories from the night before assailed Noire, and she hesitated. It didn’t help that all she could feel were Morgan’s lips against hers. Morgan’s touch deeper than anyone had ever caressed her before. Finding the spots that made Noire moan and tremble. The night had been a blur of passion and discovery as Noire gave in to the temptation Morgan had been steadily whispering in her ear. Just the memory of Morgan between her legs was enough for Noire to sway towards the body close to her. Purple spots danced in front of her eyes as she struggled to adjust past the panic and lust tumbling through her mind. Morgan huffed and leaned into Noire, biting at her ears, mumbling something Noire couldn’t focus on. The purple spots cleared slowly from her vision. 

“Go.”

Noire went, steady and silent as a ghost.

***

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. Just put this on.”

“Why?”

***

The two sisters stood side by side, listening to the cries of their chosen ones. Suffering for Grima was the ultimate blessing, their companions should be honoured to be the focus of Grima's attention. The Fell Dragon’s power was limitless tonight.

The Grimleal reveled in all the blood spilled under the watchful eye of Grima’s purple moon. 


	6. Morality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriel encounters a dilemma of a nature she is not prepared to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied potential rape/non-con, but it is established that nothing ever happened or was close to happening.

It was an interesting concept, really. Miriel would pour over tomes and books and scrolls for hours on end, and yet… Nothing seemed to agree. There was no easy solution to her puzzle, and it let the unsettled feeling in her abdomen grow. Book after book written on this topic and none could help her. No essay, no study, no philosophy. Nothing. 

Eyes tired, Miriel pressed her palm to her forehead to block out the flickering light of the lantern. Another fruitless search for the answer to her latest riddle. The candlemark showed that it was well past the middle of the night and that she should be sleeping if she wanted to be optimally rested for tomorrow’s march. Whether it would actually be a restful night was yet to be determined. Regardless, it was time to try and rest. 

The red-haired mage shut the latest book and carried the lantern from her desk to the doorway of her room. Her shuffling steps were not enough to wake the woman in her bed as she prepared herself for sleep, closing the door softly behind her and ensuring the window was well latched. The rustle of clothing being removed and replaced with the light sleeping robe was a gentle whisper that blanked Miriel’s mind. Blowing the candle out, Miriel settled next to her lover and tried to get some sleep. 

It was a long time coming. 

***

The memories wouldn’t leave Miriel alone as they marched towards their next rendezvous with reinforcements. She was too tired to focus on her tome and practice her spells. Instead she merely continued along, observing her surroundings with a less than keen eye. The normally fixated woman couldn’t find it in herself to make notes on all the vegetation, animals and architecture that she saw as they passed through this area of the realm. 

“Are you all right?”

The soft voice of her lover, melodic in its sincerity, broke her out of her daze. The small hand that slid into hers warmed a part of Miriel that had felt tumultuous since that night in the tavern. Olivia looked back at her with open concern, making something flip near her heart as Miriel focused on her. It seemed that days of study and debating with herself could not resolve her issue. Perhaps it was time to ask the source of her consternation. 

“When you were a dancer in Ferox, did the men ever assume liberties with you?” 

Olivia looked stunned for a moment, before a crease marred her forehead, a crease that Miriel wished she hadn’t caused. It made the twisting feeling worse as there was silence for a few more steps before the pink-haired dancer responded. When the answer came, Miriel did not know what she wished to hear. She could feel her heart hammering away. Maybe she wouldn’t hear her answer over her anxiety. 

“Why are you worried about this, Miri? You’ve known me for years now.” 

“Some men at the tavern in the last city, well, they seemed to imply rather crudely that you’d… accommodated them in intimate ways. Not willingly. It bothered me greatly to think that they would have harmed you.”

“Aww, Miri, were you jealous?” the teasing didn’t quell the churning inside Miriel, and Olivia seemed to notice quickly that her joke was not well received. With a sober look she made sure her eyes met Miriel’s when she continued firmly, “No. There was never anyone who dared, not after Khan Basilio saved me and made it clear that any man or woman who tried would lose the hand that touched me. I was always safe when I was on stage.” 

Miriel nodded to this news, but there was something that continued to eat at the edges of her thoughts. Olivia kept walking at her side, unbothered by the time it took her to respond to something so deeply personal. They’d covered quite some ground and had entered a sheltering forest before the mage opened her mouth again. 

“The men that implied it… they were unsavoury, and yet they acted as if it was you that was despicable for the implied acts. Why did they think this? There was some information I gathered from older sources that supported their hypothesis that you should be ashamed of what might have been done to you. And yet, other texts said otherwise. They posited that the victim of such acts is never to blame. I find myself unsure of how the ethics of such a situation can be so nuanced. How can the mistreatment of a victim ever be seen as the correct response, especially to someone who has been so harmed? I just do not believe that people could be so archaic -” 

Olivia tried to stifle her giggle as Miriel got more and more agitated in her speech, but was unsuccessful if the sudden silence was any indication. Sheepish eyes met Miriel’s and the redhead blew the remaining breath from her lungs. 

“You care about me, and about others. Its justified to feel protective and angry when they are threatened. And you’re right, it is never the victim’s fault. But Miri, love, please. I was never harmed in that way. You have all of me, fiercely protected by a Khan and now by one of the most powerful mages in history. No one will ever threaten me and survive.” 

Miriel finally felt the weird feeling in her chest settle. Olivia was safe, and the men had been horribly wrong. Despite half the texts she read agreeing with them, Miriel felt more comfortable knowing that her desire to protect her love was a valid emotional response to the threat posed by the mercenaries in the tavern. Knowing that her sentiments were rational, the mage leaned over and pressed her lips softly to Olivia’s, glad to feel her smile against them as they continued to march on, surrounded by friends who would protect them. 

**Author's Note:**

> This work will be marked complete after the six chapters, but as I have more prompts and pairings for this project, it may eventually be updated. Thank you for reading, please don't be shy and let me know what you think either here or [ on my tumblr. ](tinbramblearts.tumblr.com)


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